The Forging of Panem: A Game of Words
by Solarillio
Summary: There are many ways to fight and different fields to play. There's the story you know and the one that involves different weapons, subtler ones - ones that allow you to play a more dangerous game. A Hunger Games AU. Book One.
1. Prologue

**AN: **I do not own The Hunger Games Series. That's Suzanne Collins. And I've always thought that while the Hunger Games were good, and that I loved the female protagonist (as I'm female myself), she didn't seem to cater to Peeta's skill set. That's what I've set out to do. The Mockingjay will still be Katniss, but this is an AU. Let's see where it takes us.

* * *

**Arc One: The Scholar.**

* * *

**Prologue.**

If I had known the trouble a simple rhyme would have given me, maybe I wouldn't have had my father recite it to me every night before bed.

If I had known wondering why our country's so-called democracy had a Presidency that has been handed down from parent to child without a single call for elections would have sent a white rose to our doorstep, maybe I wouldn't have spoken up.

If I had known convincing others that maybe we could change what was happening here at least would have landed me in a room which I share with three others; broken mockeries of the people they used to be, never seeing my district again until I was like those roommates of mine, maybe I wouldn't have done that.

But no.

I did ask my father to recite the family rhyme to me every night of my early childhood.

I did wonder why free elections in Panem suddenly disappeared.

I did convince others to try and change what was happening in our district.

And despite everything, I'm glad I'm here. Because it means I did something. It means the Capitol finds me a threat. That President Snow is aware of what I am and can do.

And it means that I was strong enough to be placed here, in a room with others my age, two of which are slotted to return to their district at long last as shells of the people they used to be. And I can see the spirit of my third roommate breaking before my eyes. That one is slotted to return within the next three months.

The four of us all arrived here at the same time.

I haven't broken yet, and I hope I never will, but circumstances change. I could. I've kept going though because unlike the others who built their beliefs on little clues they found in our history texts, I have some reinforcements. A reminder of a time before the Dark Days; handed down from parent to child for generations.

A rhyme.

* * *

_My father and I walked through the meadow many times when I was still very young, tooyoung to learn much physically but old enough to remember things well. On this occasion the air was filled with the sounds of melodious birds, and often I would see them flitting about – whites and grays and blacks – from tree to tree in the not far off forest just beyond the fence._

_"Dad, what's that?"_

_"Ah, that little one, is a Mockingjay."_

_"A Mockingjay?"_

_"That's right."_

_"They sound pretty."_

_"That they do. Do you know there's an old rhyme about them?"_

_"Really?"_

_"Yup."_

_"What's it called?"_

_"See them there? How many can you see?"_

_"Um… One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Eight!"_

_"Eight for a wish."_

_"Huh."_

_"Listen carefully little one. It goes like this:_

_One for sorrow,  
Two for joy.  
Three for girls,  
Four for boys.  
Five for silver and  
Six for gold,  
Seven for a secret ne'er to be told.  
Eight for a wish,  
Nine for a kiss,  
Ten for an aim that ne'er will miss.  
Eleven for a pen,  
Twelve to survive,  
Thirteen for worlds that restore – life._

_You see?"_

_"I don't understand Daddy…"_

_"One day you will. Now how many you saw again?"_

_"Eight!"_

_"And if you count eight…?"_

_"I get a wish!"_

_"Wish away my child."_

* * *

I never told him what I wished. And now, I never will. Funny thing though, that wish never really came true, it came true in part but I'll never know if it can come to completion. Not now.

Not that I'm in this 'School for the Gifted' – surrounded by the best of District 3 security and District 2 checkpoints.

Not while I'm encased in the Capitol.

Where would I go if I were to escape? I know from our geography lessons last year that this school is next to the President's home, and that everyone in the Capitol wants their kids to come here.

Where's here?

The Coriolanus Snow School for the Gifted and Talented – established when he was twenty, the first year after he took the presidency. Counting this year, the year in which I turn sixteen, it has been around for 45 years.

There are three types of students here, the first are the 'private schoolers' of the Capitol – they are just here to get the best possible education. Then there are the 'grant holders' – they are usually from the 'Career' districts. These student usually have very strong leanings towards P.E – guess what they do in those sessions?

Then there are people like me.

We are known as the 'Scholars', here by invitation-only. What we get is probably ideal for others: three Capitol meals a day, free medication and health checkups; and something which is attractive to most of us who live in the districts, complete exemption from the Hunger Games.

I'd rather take the Games.

Supposedly, to be offered an invitation to the Coriolanus Snow School for the Gifted and Talented is a great honour. That's a lie if I'd ever heard one. A 'Scholar' is called because we put things together, we can influence people and we can see what others don't. We are a threat to the Capitol, to the President, and so when we get called and are placed in the so-called 'High Honours' class – we get brainwashed, the most resistant ones to the brainwashing get hijacked. It only takes a year to a year and a half to create a quivering mess of a previously strong and defiant boy or girl.

I do not know why I'm still fine, maybe a little insane from seeing my classmates from the different districts break before my eyes, but compared to them? The brainwashing, hijacking combination 'therapy sessions' haven't been doing their job right. I don't know, but either I have a random gene that allows me some resistance or someone, somewhere has decided to be nice and do a shoddy job.

I think the random gene theory is more likely, Capitol people are too much under Snow's control.

My name's Peeta Mellark. I'm sixteen years old. I have a gift for words. I haven't seen my district in a little over a year. For some reason, the 'therapy' is not working on me. And Snow has called me to dine with him.


	2. Chapter One

**AN:** I don't own the Hunger Games. Hope those of you reading have enjoyed it so far.

* * *

**Arc One: The Scholar.**

* * *

**Chapter One.**

I have no idea why the 'therapy' never worked on me.

You see, all students of the School have to take these sessions, but really, for the 'schoolers' and the 'granted' they are just counselling sessions; career options, a listening ear, that sort of thing. The 'scholars' sessions are the different ones. They are the ones that are guaranteed to turn even those possessed of the strongest of wills into a 'Capitol-drone' – that's what my roommates and I used to call the 'scholars' returning home. Little did we know that only one of us would still be a 'connecter'. That's what that one over there coined all of us that arrived fresh off the train that September.

* * *

_For the first time since I could ever remember, I was alone. Ever since that silver envelope containing a single tiny white rose arrived at the bakery doorstep, a sudden awareness would overtake me. I was never alone, but I never realised it till that day._

_Even the beatings from mother stopped._

_I guess she figured out that this would be worse than anything she could ever do to me._

_So what happened?_

_I received an invitation to the Coriolanus Snow School for the Gifted and Talented._

_That's what happened._

_That brought me here, a pristinely white building with the name of the school stamped prominently on the front in garish silver lettering. There were a few others like me though. Seven of us._

_Three girls._

_Four boys – myself included._

_The one nearest to me had bottle-top black rimmed glasses, black eyes and brown hair. He nudged me swiftly as the seven of us 'newbies' stared wide-eyed all around the compound which would be our new home for, for all we know – the next six to two years, depending on our age of entrance. When I turned to look at him he stuck out his hand for shaking._

_"Uiop Nabriy. District Three. Seventeen. You?"_

_"Peeta Mellark. District Twelve. Fifteen, turned it this spring."_

_Another boy, this time with copperish skin and pastel baby green eyes cut into the introduction._

_"Twelve? I didn't know there were still people over there that could put stuff together in spite of the ongoing famine throughout the ! Sorry, Wright Quays. District Four. Sixteen over here."_

_This drew the last boy in, something vague about it reminded me of Johanna Mason actually, the Victor of a previous Hunger Games. It was something about the eyes, even though he resembled someone famous – can't recall who straight off, more closely._

_"I'm Derrick Mason. District Seven. I'm also fifteen, turned it last winter. My sister has no idea I'm alive."_

_"The Victor's your sister?"_

_A nod. The apparently tactless Uiop cut straight in._

_"She looks nothing like you!"_

_"I used to."_

_The air around us four grew solem. The girls, I'd estimate around thirteen to fifteen year old, all of them, had banded together; much like us. Wright decided to cut straight to the point as we waited to be shuttled to our new quarters._

_"Are you here for the same reason as me?"_

_"Why are you here?"_

_"I can see things, spot things. The inconsistencies in our histories, our constitution, the treaties. They completely disregard common sense! And I told people about it. Started a tiny circulation to expose the truth before they brought me here."_

_Uiop looked up at him._

_"The first part sounds pretty much the same as me, only I had created a programme that would flash all the evidence at every terminal in the district every four hours for people to read. Mason?"_

_"They wanted to punish Johanna. So they killed my parents. Appeared to kill me, drugged me and gave me extensive intelligent reconstructive plastic surgery. It actually changes as I grow. I also connected things together. But I also refused just to go quietly to their Capitol orphanage, especially just to cater to the citizens who want a Finnick Odair of their own."_

_That's when the 'someone famous' hits me._

_They turned him into Finnick Odair. A Finnick Odair with shadow black eyes, but the Victor from District Four nevertheless._

_"Mellark?"_

_My response is almost automatic, brought on from the times I work the till and had to convince the Peacekeepers that 'yes that is the lowest price we can give you for those bread and are you sure you don't want to have a look at our lovely selection of cakes?'._

_Start with a smile, be charming._

_"Call me Peeta you lot, please. After all I guess we're all in the same boat now."_

_They all smile back at me._

_"Sure, no problem."_

_"Peeta then."_

_"Easier than saying Mellark for sure."_

_I roll my eyes._

_"I guess I connected the dots too, I think we all did, but I also openly questioned our government in class and manage to get most of my district to stop waiting around for money to buy the supplies and get them themselves through farming, gathering and etcetera, you know? I told them what went wrong and they knew what to do."_

_They blinked at me. I blinked at them. And Mason threw his head back in laughter. They must have done something to his vocal cords because he even sounds like Odair at that age._

_"That's why you're here."_

_"Guess we're all connectors…"_

_Uiop said._

_We froze. From that day one, we, and the girls were known as 'connectors'_

* * *

I still haven't figured out why I'm here, other than that fact.

Derrick Mason was here because he wouldn't be a good little transfigured orphan.

Wright Quays and Uiop Nabriy were here because they spread the truth.

We all were here because we could connect the dots together. And now only one of the seven of us that arrived here can do that.

I don't call my roommates by name anymore. They aren't who they were when they first arrived. And after tonight I fear that neither will I.

Tomorrow is the day of my audience with President Coriolanus Snow.

And I fear for my life.

* * *

There's a certain protocol one must take before you meet the President.

In a way, it's eerily similar to the preparations you must take for the Games, of course, apparently I am the first 'Scholar' being granted an audience. So really, I wouldn't know anything about the standard procedure for a student of his school meeting him.

I remember the first thing that happened just before we were placed at the school, right when we arrived at the Capitol.

* * *

_I think this is the trains they use for the Tributes._

_It certainly looks like the District Twelve carriage anyway, the details from that pre-Hunger Games show, showcasing all the comforts the Tributes would experience that we watched in the twelve year old class, are all copied here._

_It doubles the sense of anxiousness I have been experiencing from the invitation. The fact the same Escort they use, Effie Trinket, for the Games is escorting me to the Capitol does not help matters._

_There's even the same feast laid out before me that often serves as the first of the Tributes last meals. I can't help but wonder what that would mean for me. I'm starved, I want to gobble everything in sight. I may have had a more steady means of food as the Baker's boy – but stale bread shared out between five is still hardly substantial. I am District Twelve after all._

_I want to. But I don't._

_It is Effie's eyes on me that make me go slower than I'd like to. She's Capitol-bred, through and through. Just looking at me and silently judging me. But I don't think she even realises that she's doing it. _

_It's been fifteen minutes._

_I don't reach for food till three seconds after she does. Slow enough to be polite, fast enough to remove any thought of hesitation on my part. I don't eat till she starts to cut a piece of fruit. I match every move of hers for one of my own._

_And now she's smiling as she places her cutlery down. It stretches her neon pink stained cheeks (which she oddly paired with white hair stained at the roots with the same colour) and somewhat transforms her made up face._

_I haven't finished, but I know the beginnings of a woman starting to speak. I've had too much practice with my mother – trying to predict when she would be in one of her moods – to do otherwise. So I mimic what she's done, setting my own cutlery down neatly before meeting her eyes._

_Her smile grows even wider._

_"Such good manners you have."_

_"Thank you – Miss."_

_"And so polite too! Oh I wish the Tributes I escorted the past few years were like you. They didn't even use the cutlery."_

_One, most of your Tributes were from the Seam. Two, the people from the Seam are often more starved than us 'Townies'. Three, they wouldn't be concerned about manners when they get on this train. More about staying alive as long as they can! But be charming._

_"Thank you so much Miss, everything is so nice."_

_"Oh! Only the best for the Tributes and the students of the School. But you are the first I've ever escorted for school and not for the Games. It is a very interesting change."_

_"I do hope so. I am going to the Capitol for an education, not as one with the honour of representing my District in the Games."_

_I don't believe anything I've just said, but I can tell it was the right thing to say to her. Her eyes practically glow with approval. Maybe if I can get her on my side, I'll be able to survive the 'school' better than the last one._

_His name was Throthon Farren. My dad can remember the person he was before he went off to the Capitol. Bright, charming – at this point he'd always get a slightly wary and worried look in his eye before he'd look straight at me and say_

_"Actually, he was a little like you."_

_I've seen Throthon Farren around our District. He's nothing like me. He's completely crushed. Completely Capitol compliant, I bet if he could volunteer for the Games when he returned, he would have to ensure the 'glory of the Capitol'. But he didn't. Like Victors, the 'Scholars' are exempted from the Games, it's practically an unspoken rule that if you've been to the Capitol once, you don't go back as a Tribute again._

_You go back as a Mentor, or not at all._

_Effie coos at me and I laugh nervously._

_"I have no clue what's going to happen later. I'm sure I should but I don't…"_

_"Don't worry. Our first stop is the Remake centre…"_

_Interrupt her, make sure you seem eager and curious. Not like you're fishing for potentially life-saving information._

_"Remake centre? The same one as the one the Tributes go to?"_

_"Yes. Now I'm going to give you the same advice that Haymitch Abernathy gives every Tribute as they go into the centre… if he's sober enough to remember to give advice."_

_We share a chuckle at the only living Victor from Twelve's expense. Abernathy's alcoholism is famous throughout the District. He's even used as an example of what alcohol can do if not taken in moderation in PSHE classes._

_"Don't complain, the prep team handling you know what they're doing. Don't fight them and the preparations will be over that much sooner._

_Barely twelve hours later I'm lying on a cold metal table, plucked like a wild turkey that my dad sometimes buys from _her_ alongside the squirrels. I don't have any hair anywhere other than my crotch, eye brows and lashes and of course the top of my head. I can't remember my jaw feeling this smooth since before puberty. They told me that this would last for another year to year and a half._

_They removed the burn marks on my hands and the crust of flour that has been impossible to get rid off has been removed. I'm tanner than before but they've left my calluses. Apparently the rugged feel for men's hands is 'in' this month. I barely recognise the person staring back at me from the mirrored ceiling._

_The door to my remake chamber – I can't help but wonder if other District Twelve Tributes have lain here, counting their last hours under their breath – opens and a surprisingly normal for a Capitol man coffee coloured, gold eyeliner-ed guy comes in. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the table, running a hand through my now short and gelled into spikes hair as I do so._

_He looks me over and nods his head before extending his hand._

_"Hello, my name's Cinna. I'll be taking over the Stylist's team during the 74__th__ Hunger Games…"_

_"The ones next year?"_

_"Yup those ones. I've put in a request for District Twelve. So I guess you'll be practice."_

_"I don't mind."_

_"So, what can you tell me about District Twelve."_

_My father calls it a gift, I'm not so sure about it though. Whenever I've worked the till for our bakery for the Peacekeepers and fellow Townies, I've always could be counted on to get the best price for us. I've always been able to read people well. It's how I've convinced the people most open to change in our district to do so. This man seems sincere._

_So I tell him everything. About my district, and myself – even the events that lead up to my invitation to the school. He listens and absorbs everything – including my love for a certain silver-eyed girl, even if I don't mention Katniss' name to him. All the while, he does this, he sketches something as I speak. When I finish he makes a few more notes and sends whatever he did to an Avox (Effie told me about them on the train) to take away to do something._

_That's when I realise that I have a friend in the Capitol. I don't know when it clicked but somehow, I knew it._

_Cinna was the one that dressed me in the School's boy uniform. It's pretty simple actually: a white blazer with the school's emblem inscribed on the front pocket on top of white slacks. The shirt we wear underneath the blazer is entirely up to us, but Cinna hands me a simple coal-black dress shirt. He tells me it's his own design. I can't see his embellishments to the shirt until I get a good look at the gold buttons._

_Every single one of them is a miniature crest of sorts._

_There's a sword crossing a pen on diagonals. A loaf of bread crosses the horizontal. The vertical is taken up by a shorter sword-like blade. Not quite a knife but something different. There in the centre is a silver dandelion flower, its gold stem winds out underneath the other things on the button encircling them. From further off, if you aren't looking very closely and standing very near, you would only see a silver star-like object encased in a gold circle._

_I look up at Cinna._

_"What's this."_

_"Something I made from your memories of your home. To remind you of it."_

_"Huh?"_

_"The Pen, Bread and that Dagger and Dandelion in the centre all represent aspects of you. The dandelion is silver – for the girl's eyes and you did tell me she looked at you then stared at the dandelion before looking straight at you again with some sort of realisation dawning. The sword is her again, she sounds like a fighter."_

_"Why a Dagger?"_

_"I think you'll find out."_

* * *

I've worn his shirt designs for my uniform shirt ever since. My casual clothing is school-issued, a white T-shirt on top of white sweatpants or jeans.

I'm back in the Remake centre. It is the day before the Reaping of the 74th Hunger Games and the place is bustling. I'm here for another full body buff and a re-styling before I head to the President's home to dine and watch the Reaping.

This feels eerily familiar.

Cinna walks in again. He's worried, but he also looks confident.

"Hi again Peeta."

"Hi Cinna."

"How are you feeling?"

"Nervous, anxious – every single adjective you can think of for a bad squeamish feeling."

"You're going to meet the President. I think that's to be expected."

"Yeah…"

"You might be on camera soon, I'm here to provide you an image."

"Again?"

"Apart from the Victor and the Tributes, you're the only other representative of Twelve they are going to see. You know very well what most of the Capitol thinks. I'm here to help you show them that your home is more than what they expect. Add to that that you're the first Scholar to join Snow's council…"

"I don't want to."

"I know."

"It doesn't change the fact you are. Another 'Schooler' joining is not a big deal, you doing so is."

"Why?"

"You don't know do you? What you can be?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

I got nothing out of that conversation. Cinna seems to be another one who's a lot like me.

"What should I do?"

"Well, you will probably be in a position to influence people, most probably your peers. From what you've told me of the regime you go through, he's trying another angle to bring you under. You are guarded against a 'frontal assault', so I think he's going to try and appeal any sense of greed you may have. Or need for control."

"I'm not safe aren't I?"

"In a way, I suppose it'll be worse for you than the Tributes. You'll be heading into a different arena. Possibly a more dangerous one."

I grimace and Cinna pats my shoulder comfortingly.

"I have something for you."

I look up as he pulls something out the garment bag. It's truly a Cinna original. The suit is coal-black and it's paired with a flame red-orange with thin gold stripes dress shirt. The buttons are the customary ones that he designed for my use. The thing that really surprises me is that where the school crest would have been on my uniform is that design again in gold and silver. And when I put it on and turn around, it's emblazoned on my back like I'm carrying a shield.

"It's perfect, but it seems a little blatant."

"Just reminding him who he's dealing with. The Boy Who Won't Break."

"I hope I don't have to wear this for lunch tomorrow, it's too good for the President."

"I agree. You tell me when you want to put that on and I will give it back to you. This is for tomorrow."

He pulls out a replica of the uniform I wore my first day. Down to the emblem on the buttons of the black shirt. But he's done it again. Where the school crest should be is my own, except with the colours inverted, the dandelion gold and starkly visible against the silver.

"You're still Peeta Mellark, the Baker's son. They may bring you here and try to change you but you haven't. This is just a bit subtler than the other one."

"Thank you, this is perfect for tomorrow."

* * *

The President's home is an exercise in icy extravagance. All I can tell is that he is obsessed with his name.

And he gives me the creeps. When I first stand to greet him, his eyes rest for a full five seconds on my crest. I'm sure he knows something I don't – that maybe my personal emblem is

The Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games is in an hour, along with our lunch. While we wait, he's taking me on a tour of his mansion.

I would rather be anywhere but here. The President is constantly scrutinising me. I'd rather be back at home, icing the cakes – I'd even prefer to be in my room in the school, with the shells of my roommates, sketching or painting.

Apparently my acting is just that good. He doesn't seem to think anything is wrong with me – with my beliefs that are aligned against him.

We sit in a rose garden, opposite each other. I can't tell if the sickly smell is from them or him. Or if the cutlery is platinum or silver. The holo-TV is placed in front of us.

We sit. We eat. I try to hide my true beliefs all the while I chat 'pleasantly' with him. I watch with growing grief in my heart as children are Reaped or if they volunteer while my dining partner give commentary on what he believes the odds are for each of them. I watch in horror when Primrose Everdeen is Reaped. My hearts stops when Katniss volunteers.

My name is Peeta Mellark. I am a Scholar. I haven't seen my district in over a year. According to Cinna, I've stepped into a dangerous arena – I would agree, Snow's a player here. The girl I've been in love with since I was five – my unfulfilled Mockingjay wish – has just been Reaped.

And under the gaze of Snow, I retain a mask of objective pity when inside, all I want to do is scream.


	3. Chapter Two

**AN:** I don't own the Hunger Games. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

**Arc One: The Scholar.**

* * *

**Chapter Two.**

I saw her today, in the opening parade ceremony and for the first time, I realise that we match. Not really not right now, but Cinna must have planned for me to present myself as a team together with this year's tributes. I don't think that he would have ever thought that _she'd_ be in these ones, but what's done is done.

But he's certainly created an image. She burned into the eyes of the Capitol tonight.

And as I lie here in this newly assigned Capitol apartment, I can't help but go over how much my life has changed – again – from a few days ago.

* * *

_"Hmm, that last girl has excellent odds."_

_"Sir?"_

_"She has spirit. Spirit will get her very far. Yes indeed, I think I see our Victor."_

_Snow can tell who the Victor is for each Games? How does he… Oh. He is the President. All it would take is a whisper in the right ear and his favourite would be set to win. Of course there would be some that he never picked out as Victors, like Johanna and Haymitch but mostly, I could believe that – it's all him._

_"My apologies Mr Mellark…"_

_"Please sir, call me Peeta."_

_"Such a charming young man… Tell me Peeta, how did you gain my invitation?"_

_"Well, you see sir, I had the best grades in class, it was always easy for me to connect things together – and I wanted to make a difference."_

_There, vague enough to mean anything but still very much so the truth._

_"I see. Well you can certainly make a difference here. I am getting old Peeta, and have no one to pass my legacy down to."_

_Wait – what?_

_"You're District Peeta, and I promise you I'll always be honest – could you tell me why we are so disliked there?"_

_Okay, so he was sincere about the honesty bit, surprisingly enough. Oh. This is why. Oh. I see where he's going._

_"We don't necessarily dislike the Capitol."_

_This is true, we're more concerned with getting tomorrow's dinner on the table than anything else._

_"We do acknowledge its rule over us."_

_Also true, but only in that vague sense. Hunger is more of a government in the outlying districts than the Capitol._

_"But you do not approve of the Games."_

_Careful now Peet. He's trying to trip you up. Go back to that vague truths from before._

_"Well, I don't know about other districts, but Twelve admires hard work."_

_We all do, it's a way of life, we need to work to live after all._

_"It's a loss of another pair of hands, but we know why we must do so."_

_We know. We don't understand. It's a loss of another pair of hands, of another pair of much loved hands. Someone's daughter, someone's son, someone's sister, someone's brother._

_Someone's love of their life._

_But it was the right thing to say. Snow's eyes seem to have thawed slightly. I have been honest after all, and I think I've said exactly what he wants to hear._

_"You have been honest with me, now as long as you keep that up, I'll give you your opportunity to make a difference. You are a very special young man Peeta and that's why I've invited you here. So what I want to know is… would you like to join the Apprentice Legislation course? You will be shadowing some of the top officials and businessmen here. You could even grow very powerful one day."_

_Cinna warned me about this. I had planned to turn this down. But I can see another route I can take now._

_I can't protect her in the Arena as another Tribute. I could protect her out here, with Sponsors and with making sure the odds remain in her favour._

_Protect her from Snow even, all if I…_

_"Thank you so much for this opportunity sir, you will never get the chance to regret this decision."_

_"Perfect! Now, I'll have to send your change in schedule to your Principal. Of course, you'll head back to your district after the Games and every long school break after that. But come fall term, you'll return to begin your course. I look forward to working with you closely Peeta."_

_"As do I Mr President."_

_A Peacekeeper escorts me out towards a new apartment building, apparently it overlooks the combination Training and Remake centres._

_All my things are already here. Something tells me that this place will be my new permanent home._

_One thing stands out though, I can go home._

* * *

There's a week between the arrival of the Tributes and their interviews. Eight days before they enter the Arena.

I hate how much my schedule parallels that of those of the Tributes.

I have a week to learn the ins and outs of the society of the Capitol. I have a week to make an impression of some of Snow's biggest supporters. I have a week before my own interview – my official debut onto the Capitol scene.

I'm scheduled to be interviewed directly after the Tributes. Directly after Katniss. They've switched up the order of the Tributes this year.

I have a week to figure out how exactly I am going to protect her in that darn Arena.

And I probably should also figure out how I'm going to present myself to the President's friends. All I have is my uniform (with my various Cinna-designed shirts), this initial meeting suit, my school-issued 'down-time' clothes and the brilliant suit he designed.

There's nothing for me to do and I pull myself out of bed to look over the streets as the Capitol citizens party.

It's a little more than sickening. The way we are all pieces in Snow's game but can't do anything about it.

I for one refuse to be a pawn.

I can't be, there's a life at stake now. _Her_ life. I need to play a game against Snow, but I have to appear to be a pawn at the same time. It's all so confusing and disturbing that I almost miss my door opening.

"Cinna? Wait."

I pull him into my bathroom and switch on the taps.

"What did you tell me I was like when we first met that I didn't quite get?"

"A Dagger."

"Sorry Cinna, just had to make sure you were you."

"Paranoia is certainly a valid way of life here."

I look at him, he knows why I'm here, he knows what I'm doing.

He opens his arms, and the paternal gesture sends me into tears as everything just hits me.

* * *

_A month into our first term at the School, one of the girls gets dragged off for 'misconduct', for 'spreading lies about the nature of the Capitol'._

_She came back a 'Capitol-drone'._

_We found out from Uiop she was merely whispering her findings to her roommate in their beds at night._

_From then on we were wary about talking about it openly amongst ourselves. And Uiopquietly pieced together a device that fit on the underside of a watch that could tell you if there were any bugs in the room. He said it should work, they were all District Three made anyway so he knows all the weak points of the tech. A failsafe of sorts. He lead us into our communal bathroom, switched on all the taps and told us about his plans. What he wanted to make out of this simple detection prototype._

_Fast forward six months and he was the first of us boys to become completely 'drone-ified'. He slipped up around the fifth month after the girl turned. We shook our heads wildly as he got mad and shouted his frustrations about the constant surveillance. We tried to stop him. We couldn't._

_He never got to finish those mods._

_But he gave the last five of us 'connectors', because he did tell the girls about the audio-visual devices placed everywhere, three gifts. The first was the 'invisible to all but the owner' detection device, the second was our need for constant vigilance. The third was that bathrooms usually only had listening devices, these were usually the worst made, no one wanted to hear someone heading for the loo after all, and the lack of watching devices prevented potential perverts from watching people in the shower all day instead of doing their jobs._

_But we would never be able to thank Uiop Nabriy. We got back a shell that answers to his name instead._

* * *

After a last few hiccup tears Cinna reached for the taps to turn them off, I didn't let him.

"Cinna, it's…"

"Her, Katniss Everdeen right?"

All I can do is nod and he sighs.

"When I saw her, I had a feeling. Then I saw her eyes – Peeta, you have an excellent eye for detail. They look just like you described."

"I know. It's all in my head, I can never get them right on paper. Cinna, I have to protect her, give her the best chance possible. I mean, I'm stuck here but she's supposed to be free. Running through the forest."

"What do you know of her Peeta? She was completely stiff-lipped towards Mr Abernathy when he asked her."

"Will he help me?"

"I think so, yes."

"When can I meet with him?"

"Tomorrow the President is hosting a 'Meet the Tribute Teams' event for his most powerful council-members."

"And I need to familiarise myself with the politics of the place…"

I look at my Capitol ally.

"Know something I can wear?"

He smirks back at me.

"I may have something up my sleeve."

* * *

_The minute I leave the President's home, the Peacekeeper guard disperses a little. All I can think about is Katniss, Katniss in the Games, KATNISS IN THE GAMES._

_I need to scream. I need to cry. The worst part is I can't._

_I'm supposed to be happy, overjoyed that the President has granted me the honour of undertaking the Apprentice Legislation course. It's rumoured to be a sure-fire ticket into the inner circle of the man himself. It's the last place I want to be, but to gain the possibility of a chance to save her (even if she makes Presidential favourite), I'm in it._

_What I really need is a place to break down, and if I do that in my apartment – oh, here are the keys, two copies – it may be recorded and sent back to the President. And all I've done would have been for nothing._

_Because he'd stop using the fine chisel he's trying out on me and revert to the sledgehammer._

_What I really need right now, is a friendly face._

_Luckily I bypass Cinna. I plaster the hugest grin I can muster n my face, although I'm sure he can see right through it._

_"Cinna! Come by later will you?"_

_I say as I toss him the spare key. His eyes widened in return. He knows that if I refused the offer, I'd head right back to the school for even more intense 'therapy sessions', the plan was to smuggle me in some caffeine tablets to help me make my way through them. Cinna knows all about my resistance to the sessions, but we both are wary of my possible breaking point. That would have been the best option till I turned eighteen. Then they wouldn't have an excuse to keep me there any longer. We worked it all out, they'd threaten me, my family and my district six ways to Sunday and put a tracker on me and place me under the Capitol's constant watch but at least I'd be home permanently, keeping my head down and silently defiant, but I'd be home permanently and I'd still be me._

_He knows that it's only a worst case scenario that would send me this direction. Towards a flashy new apartment._

_And I hope that in a while, maybe I can break down._

* * *

Cinna returned the key to me before bustling out of the living room back into my hallway. He wheels in a clothes rack with no less than twenty-one different garment bags on them. Then he goes back out to wheel in another, and this time I count fourteen. I look up at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Do the Tributes and Katniss have this much clothing to wear?"

"Oh no. I designed their Opening Parade outfit, their Interview outfit, their funeral outfit and their Victory outfit. The rest of the time they would be in Training uniform or Games uniform. If the odds are in Katniss's favour, she'd also be in a hospital gown."

"Then why…"

I gesture helplessly at the racks.

"That?"

Cinna smiled.

"You are going into a very dangerous game. And half the battle is done visually. You are a handsome young man, which is a point in your favour, but to win that half a battle, you've got to look the part as well."

He waved his hand towards the rack overflowing with the twenty-one garment bags.

"Those are what those are. Your impressions. I'll make your girl an image, a symbol. She has this pin as a token that will go brilliantly with what I have in mind. You? You need to become an icon."

"Can't really see the difference."

"A symbol is just that, a symbol – someone who represents a group of ideals and stands for them. An icon lives and breathes those ideals. People make you a symbol, only you can turn yourself into an icon."

We go through the suits he has made for me. Some of them have ties, others don't – meant to be worn with a few buttons undone in an 'effortlessly formal-casual' look. Two things strike me. All of them have my customary buttons but like the impressive coal-black suit he showed me, they all have my emblem, the crest Cinna designed, splayed across the back and on, or the left breast. The second thing is the fact that they are all in flame colours. Fire red. Spark yellow. Flicker orange. Heart of flame blue. They are all paired with either coal-black, ash white or smoke grey.

Something tells me that Cinna means for me to be equally burnt into the Capitol mind as the Tributes. We are District Twelve and we stand together. That's the image I need to exude as I make my unofficial debut onto the political scene tomorrow.

* * *

I dress in the ash white suit today which is paired with the light blue of the heart of the flame shirt. It goes together with a coal black tie. This one doesn't have the crest on the left side of my chest. It's a pin on the tie.

Cinna left instructions on how to wear each of the suits, trusting me to do what he wants dress-wise. With this particular shirt I'm supposed to go extremely neat and proper. I smooth over the jacket to make sure the pin is visible on my tie and give myself a final once-over in the mirror. The prep-team had applied some kind of perma-gel to my hair so it sits in a constantly casually dishevelled manner – no matter what I do it always springs back to that.

I check the time and recall the last bits of Cinna's coaching about attending these sort of Capitol parties.

My name is Peeta Mellark. The girl of my dreams was Reaped. I've just joined the Apprentice Legislator programme under President Snow to try and create contacts to keep her safe. Cinna's helping me and I have to convince at least one other to do the same.

I am terrified.


	4. Chapter Three

**AN:** I still don't own the Hunger Games. Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Arc One: The Scholar.**

* * *

**Chapter Three.**

Today is 'Day One' in the Training centre. Today is day one of my unofficial internship under Snow. I think both our jobs are equally as difficult now Katniss.

Your job will be to try to survive. Mine will be to make sure you do.

There's a floor underneath the basement of the Training centre that none of the Tributes have access to. Cinna meets up with me at the concealed VIP entrance to let me in, giving me a once over before nodding and leading me through the various corridors to a completely transparent glass elevator.

I'm sure that there must have been some Tributes terrified of this, the sight of nothing beneath your feet and the lurching of the elevator starting to move causing your stomach to be either in your throat or at your feet.

Cinna shuffles through a few cards before inserting one in an easy-to-miss if you don't know where it is slot. This lights up a small, previously invisible button next to the slot. When Cinna lightly touches it, the elevator starts moving down.

Soon enough the doors open into a corridor which is another exercise in extravagance. I still can't tell the difference between platinum, silver or other similarly coloured metals but I do know that those sconces over there could be pawned for enough money to feed my entire district for at least a year.

That's just how much those are worth.

I'm willing to bet the rest of the stuff here would definitely keep the outlying districts fed for a very, very long time. But I'm not here to inventory the amount of wealth the Capitol keeps for themselves. I'm here to start getting the basics to play my own games.

Cinna and I enter together, not too early, not at all late. Just right in the middle, people forget the ones that arrive in between the earliest and latest to arrive.

Don't draw attention to yourself yet. You know what happens if you draw attention to yourself before you're ready.

* * *

_They threw an Equinox's ball for all of us students. 'Schoolers' and 'Granted' were allowed to come in anything they pleased; but as Scholars we had an image to uphold, we had to remain in uniform._

_Cinna had given me a white shirt and a pale blue tie to wear together with the uniform, I wore this along with a pin with my emblem on it. He gave it to me as a 'you-made-it-to-the-New-Year' present._

_Wright, Derrick and I were still ourselves. We had kept our heads down this long to keep ourselves safe for this long, we could do it for longer. We had to._

_Little did we know that tonight the number of us boys still ourselves would dwindle to two._

_Derrick and I entered the grand hall of the school after around half of the attendees of the ball went in. That's what we learned. The more average we appeared, the more they were inclined to forget us, the more 'free' we became. Derrick had chosen to break protocol subtly and dress in a way more reminiscent of District Seven than he was supposed to. I'm pretty sure the pin could be seen as a symbol of defiance too._

_Wright hadn't come with us._

_Just as the last few 'fashionably late' people walked in, Wright walked in. We knew what he was doing, it was after all, why he was late._

_He had started up his circulation again recently. Our Principal had no idea who was distributing the articles and he was writing under a penname. The papers seemed to be coming in from the outside. But a recent article told people that if they supported what he was writing, to come dressed in the style of a district or to wear something reminiscent of a district._

_Everyone who had attached some part of a district to their clothing – from what I noticed – had come into the dance in the middle. Not too early not too late._

_I knew why._

_Then Wright came in, he was as subtly district-styled as Derrick was, but there was a difference. He stood out from the more obviously dressed complete Capitolites that came in together with him. In a group that stood out like sore thumbs, he stood out as the only 'healthy' one._

_I noticed the Principal's eyes immediately snapping to him._

_"Oh no."_

_I hardly realise that I said it till Derrick's eyes are on me, warning me. I do not say any more after that._

_The next day, Wright gets called in to 'therapy' for 'teenage rebellion' – breaking the dress code. Out of all of the circulation supporters (we had quite a few) the Principal only noticed one. The one that came in at the end._

_Wright._

_And when he finally stopped needing to go to the 'therapy' sessions daily, he was half gone._

* * *

Cinna guides me into a corner where I can observe everyone first. The President has not arrived yet so the major brown-nosing hasn't started yet.

Cinna turns to me and looks me firmly in the eye.

"Do you know who's who and how the system works? Or would you like a bit of help?"

* * *

_Our history lessons are different from how they were in the districts. We learn more about politics here than in the districts and that is how we learn our country has been re-setup from America._

_Each district has a Mayor – we already knew that._

_Each Mayor answers to a Governor. There are four Governors, they each sit on the President's council. The Council has twenty people on it, not inclusive of the President._

_Four Governors._

_Twelve Businessmen, all of them in charge of the industry each district takes care of._

_Two Gamesmakers. The Head and the deputy._

_Two Capitol Representatives._

_All of them are counted among the President's most trusted. All of them are brilliant sponsors. All of them are numbered among the most powerful people in Panem._

_I'd never want to get close to them – ever._

* * *

I don't like what I'm about to do. But I'll have to do it. There are lives now at stake. I shake my head.

"I have a vague idea about the system but I don't get the rest."

"Okay."

He points out two men. One of them has a weirdly shaped beard. They are in deep discussion, the other one seems to be growing frustrated and the bearded one is rubbing his temples wearily. They look strange until I realise, when one of them turns their head; that they seem to be talking to people over a headset.

"That's the Head Gamemaker and his Deputy, Seneca Crane and Plutarch Heavensbee."

He turns and point out sixteen people standing in groups of four

"Those over there are the Heads of Industries Together with their respective Governors."

He then points out the stylists and Mentors, all grouped together just like the rest of the sixteen council members. The Capitol representatives are with them, exclaiming over the Mentors, the previous Victors of the Hunger Games.

Cinna continues quietly pointing out people and telling me where they fit in when one of those Representatives, the female one, breaks away from the group together with a Mentor to come over to us. She's garishly dressed in neon sunset colours – I thought nothing could ever make me hate the colours of the sunset, she just might be close – but like most of the council members, the rest of her, apart from the neon purple hair, almost looks normal. She grins widely at Cinna, flashing sharpened canines.

The Mentor looks like Derrick, it's Finnick Odair.

"Cinna! The Stylist of these Games! Absolutely brilliant! Creatively inspired! I can't wait to see what you've got in store for the Interviews."

"Fuusi dear, I think you just scared them."

I've never seen Cinna gobsmacked, but I can tell he's been taken by surprise. Maybe he's going over the disaster in front of him. The Victor of the 65th Games shakes his head and notices me. Extending a hand towards me, he exudes charm and sensuality. But there's this sadness and caution about his eyes that shakes me.

There's more to his story than that of a random playboy. I know there is. Just like how I knew to trust Cinna, just like how I knew how to win over Effie. It's instinctive.

"Finnick Odair, I haven't seen you around before."

"Peeta Mellark, I'm a Scholar."

"A Scholar?"

He turns towards the Representative.

"I'm going to get to know this guy a little better now Fuusi, I'll be back."

He gives her a slow, seductive wink as he says this, causing her to giggle uncontrollably. His heart is not in it. This is not a man who loves to love women. I just get the feeling he's a little like me in that respect, fixated on one girl and one girl alone.

"Oh take your time Finny, I'll just talk to Cinny here."

This was the woman who made it to the top? Who made it on the President's council? Finnick slings an easy arm over my shoulders and directs me away from the comfortable little corner to a more open space.

"So you're a Scholar huh?"

"Apprentice Legislator next year."

"Hmm, very interesting. Where're you from? Two?"

"What?"

"Where are you from then?"

"Twelve!"

He stops suddenly and gives my clothing another hard once over.

"Oh, I can see that now, Cinna designed your clothes?"

"Been wearing his designs ever since I arrived in the Capitol."

"I didn't see it at first, but he's really running with the 'fire' theme this year isn't he."

"I think so."

"So, I've never met a Scholar from the School before, usually we get Granteds and Schoolers here – they always tell us the Scholars have a higher standard to uphold and are more likely to drop out."

That is not true. And the only reason they 'drop out' is because the regime is complete and they have been 'dronified'. I smile at him, there's more to him than meets the eye.

"Well, we're always a little more busy than the others. I was surprised I've made it this far, I never expected the President to have a personal audience with him for admittance into his political programme."

What I mean is that Scholars are more busy trying to survive than the others. They don't need to worry about that, we do. I am surprised that the 'therapy' never worked on me, I've always been afraid of what will happen when it does. I never expected the President to take an interest in me, but for some reason (I think it's my resistance to the re-programming) I've caught his attention enough to make him try and bring me closer to him.

Keep your friends close but your enemies even closer. I wonder if that has occurred to him concerning me?

Finnick looks at me sharply, his sea-green eyes curious before replying.

"I'm sure you feel sorry they dropped out."

Wait, does he get what I'm not saying?

"Your syllabus must be extremely exhausting. You must be very strong to make it this far."

I think he does.

"Anyone would be surprised by a summons from the President, especially if they feel they have done nothing truly special of mention."

Okay, he knows my code, how?

"Did Cinna show you where the toilets are here?"

I shake my head quickly.

"Well, we can't have you uncomfortable when you have to go, so I'll show you."

* * *

Several corridors later Finnick drags me into the loo for the use of event attendees. He quickly turns on the taps and my eyes widen in understanding of the meaning.

The playboy persona has fallen away. All that's left is a hardened and slightly weary survivor. His eyes are hard when he fields his next question to me.

"It's true then? What they do to people there?"

I narrow my eyes, how can I trust him? I know my gut says to, and I know that sixth sense of mine is never wrong, but logic wins out. I need another confirmation.

"First. Why does…"

"I know Wright Quays. He's my second cousin once removed on my mother's side. A year and a bit back he went missing, my aunt told me he received an invitation to become a Scholar at the School and burst into tears. I asked around. Is it true?"

The admission takes me back.

* * *

_I nudge Wright's shoulder with my own as we lounge on the ledge created by the tub as Uiop and Derrick play a card game. All the taps are on and the plugs are out, interestingly enough our very large shared bathroom has become our sanctuary._

_"Wright, you're doing it again, staring at Derrick."_

_He looks at me wearily._

_"I can't help it. He reminds me of home. The eyes are wrong and we all know why he looks like that but he looks exactly like my cousin."_

_"Your cousin looks just like Finnick Odair?"_

_"Something like that."_

* * *

I let my face fall, I know I can trust him – it's not just my gut now.

"I'm so sorry."

His eyes grow large.

"What."

"Someone will be returning to district four this September, in time for the new term. He will look like your cousin. But he's not."

He slumps visibly.

"So it's all true then? The brainwashing? The hijacking? The re-programming?"

"Yes."

His eyes narrow. And he leaps towards me – how are all the Victors still so fit after their Games? Even Haymitch.

* * *

_There was another mine explosion. An emergency. Dad gave me several loaves of bread to give to rescue teams to keep their strength up. Then he joined them to help out._

_Nothing surprised me more than the sight of Haymitch Abernathy running in and out of the mines. He carried out two unconscious men at a time, and ran back for more. And kept on going. Even after my dad was worn out. And my father has one of the best endurance in the district, you had to be for the constant kneading and lifting that is done as a baker._

_What Haymitch was doing was almost superhuman._

* * *

I barely keep my head from cracking back on the toilet's wall.

"How do I know you're not one of them? Maybe that's why you've survived the School so well. Maybe you're really on his side, after all you're an Apprentice Legislator."

* * *

_"Jellies! Jellies! I call jellies!"_

_I let go of the wrestling hold I had Wright in, slightly puzzled._

_"Jellies?"_

_"It's short for Jellyfish. My cousin babysat me a lot when I was younger, after class one day I gave up in our mock fight and called out 'Jellies', it's kinda our safe word."_

_"Why jellyfish?"_

_"Jellyfish have no choice but to follow the current, that's what I mean."_

* * *

"Jellies!"

Finnick blinked.

"Jellies. Short for jellyfish because they drift along the current."

He let go.

"Wright trusted you?"

I nod. He holds out his hand again.

"Wright was an excellent judge of character. If he trusted you, I probably should too. Let's start over. My name is Finnick Odair, Victor of the 65th Hunger Games. Wright Quays was my cousin."

My jaw locks in a grim expression.

"I am Peeta Mellark. Scholar from District Twelve, entering the Apprentice Legislation programme this September. I have no idea why the re-programming never worked on me. The girl I love is Katniss Everdeen. She's in these Games."

His jaw drops.


	5. Chapter Four

**AN:**Still don't own the Hunger Games. Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

**Arc One: The Protector.**

* * *

**Chapter Four.**

I don't know why, but the whole of my life story comes spilling out again. Only this time, it's not up to my arrival in the Capitol, it's up to this moment, this second.

And Finnick's jaws are still on the floor.

I'm just surprised no one else had to go to the toilet between now and when we first turned on all of the taps here.

Finnick finally seems to get a grip on his unhinged mouth, closing it with a snap.

"Well, I think Cinna is right – you have no idea what you can be. And now you're probably going to be in the best position for your talents. From what you've told me, I'm actually a little impressed. I thought the Arena was hard."

I don't know what he is talking about. All I did was survive, and not in the same way as he did. Maybe he might even consider it the soft option.

"Whatever you're thinking about man, snap out of it."

"Huh?"

"I've just heard your story. I think you're a lot stronger than you realise. I get it now. Your girl's lot in this is to fight. Yours is to endure."

It's like he comes to a sudden realisation after my story, the same one Cinna came to that year and a bit ago. And as for me, I still don't get it.

* * *

_It was my turn, my session. The year mark was approaching and they weren't getting any results from me._

_Two months back they realised, I still was myself, so they upped my sessions to daily and included hijacking sessions._

_A month back they realised they were still not getting anything from me and upped my daily sessions again to twice a day._

_Now they've upped it again to three times a day._

_They don't trust us to go willingly, it's how I know that they are actually sane, so when the Peacekeepers knock on the door (they are supposed to be bully-deterrents. The Scholars, the ones who are still connectors, which is basically now just me – Derrick is part-gone.) I stand up and, like I've always done, go peaceably with them._

_If you play to their rules, you have a better chance of survival._

_As we turn another corridor, we come to the door that leads to our 'therapist'. When we were all us, within the first few sessions we've come to call it the 'Torture Chamber'. It does deserve the alternate name._

_They know all too well that for some reason the regular brainwashing won't work on me, so one Peacekeeper follows me into the 'therapy' room. He brushes his key-card against a concealed slot and the bookcase slides down to reveal a small, sterile chamber._

_I can't tell if it goes up or down. The moment I step in, the lights flicker off, leaving me in a state of blackout. I don't focus on that. I know better to._

_I was the last to be inducted into the hijacking programme, mainly because I made myself appear to be the most co-operative of the four boys. But before me, was Derrick._

_He was the first to survive his first hijacking nearly unscathed, and he told me what is was like in the bathroom sanctuary that by then only two of us had need of._

_He told me of the movement in the dark, the complete disorientation he went through as he was thrust into the light. Then the pinning down, the injections, the clips, the hallucinations, the feeling of something trying to brush against his mind._

_He managed to ward it off for four further 'sessions'._

_He was the worst out of all of those to be 'dronified', because after the fifth, overall session I could see Johanna's brother break before my eyes. I could see him becoming a shell._

_In a way, I knew that it would be worse in his case. The other two would remain shells, Derrick would be 're-filled' with someone who wasn't him – completely replacing his personality for that of the person he was changed to look like._

_The night before the final hijacking session where he was still him, he admitted to me he didn't know how long he could hold out. He told me how he spoke to Wright about his hijacking, and how he was confused why, he could feel the presence in his mind but Wright never did. _

_I spoke to the last girl to go into hijacking after her first experience. She had talked to her own roommate about it._

_Interestingly enough, only Derrick had ever felt something amiss._

_I walk over to the standing-table willingly, they don't even need to strap me down. All my energy is redirected elsewhere. I don't know where I am so a physical escape is near useless. Any option to keep me still me is all internal._

_The hijacking is guaranteed to break someone. Derrick and Wright researched it discreetly, all the testing they've done says hijacking should always work._

_But Derrick could resist it for a while until the tracker-jack venom built up too highly in his system._

_They inject an ever higher dosage into my already needle prick marked arms and I brace myself. The clips come, and I can feel the fog of hallucinations try to breach the mental walls I have erected on the way down. I continue breathing steadily, deep breaths. In. Out. Keep the walls up. Feel the pressure of a presence not my own trying to bear down on my defences._

_I can ride it out. All I need to do is endure – survive._

_Focus on my crest, all my memories of my district tagged onto it. Recite the rhyme constantly._

_One for sorrow. They inject another dose, this time it's mixed with something that chemically keeps my eyes open._

_Two for joy. They play warped clips of things I know is not real. My eyes may be open to them, but my focus has turned internal. Keep my mind on the picture of the crest Cinna designed._

_Three for girls. Breathe as the stark silence is suddenly broken with the sound of my mother's screams, it's the usual abuse from before the invitations. I'm so used to it I don't even flinch when the sound of me being whacked echoes through the chamber._

_Four for boys. Brace my mental walls against the onslaught of the fog of hallucination. I can't let them know I'm still aware. Still alert. So I mutter a few words under my breath about Derrick, Wright, Uiop. Myy father. Rye, the closer one to me of my two older brothers._

_Five for silver. Breathe._

_Six for gold. Breathe, nearly halfway there._

_Seven for a secret ne'er to be told. Breathe. Halfway through. I've made it this far, I can last through the rest of the session. Trust that my walls won't break. Trust that if I somehow withstood the tracker-jack venom this long, for so many month now, I can survive another session, another day._

_Eight for a wish. Katniss… My partly granted not entirely fulfilled yet wish._

_Nine for a kiss. Come on, brace yourself Peet. You can do this._

_Ten for an aim that ne'er will miss. She's a fighter. The sword on my crest. The sword to my pen. Her skill is unmatched. There never are any cracks on my mental walls, but I do maintenance anyway, I can't be too careful._

_Eleven for a pen. I'm going to keep staying me. I'm nearly there._

_Twelve to survive. My mind is still working on overdrive, I still am me, but all my energy has gone into keeping me, me. My body is weak. They give me some sort of injection to strengthen me again, just enough so I can shift myself off the standing-table to sit on the wheelchair._

_Thirteen for words that restore – life. I'm back in my room, breathe, breathe. You're not completely safe but you're safer now. Breathe and as the fog recedes, slowly bring down the walls._

_I can breathe again._

* * *

Finnick shakes his head at my expression and turns off the taps, guiding me back to the room filled with people.

"I think you are more like one of us than you realise. Except you've just skipped the step in between and jumped straight to the long game."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"What do you mean?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"You're a 'connector' right? Connect the dots."

I sigh exasperatedly, rolling my eyes as I do so. It's only then I realise that he's brought me to the group of Mentors he was chatting with when he wasn't with the female Capitol Representative.

"Johanna, Beetee, Wiress, Chaff, Haymitch, Seeder, Mags, this is Peeta. He's a good sort."

He turns back to me, pointing out each mentor as he goes along. The one I need to see is there. Haymitch Abernathy.

"Peeta, you already knew Haymitch – I think. Johanna, Beetee, Wiress, Chaff, Seeder and Mags."

Abernathy gets a sort of weird look in his eye. Like a realisation is dawning on him.

"You're the Mellark boy. You distributed bread to the rescue efforts. The one that started people growing dandelions in their gardens."

Because dandelions are edible.

And I know I should be focusing on him, because he's my link to Katniss in the arena. But Johanna keeps pulling my eyes towards her. It's completely unintentional on her part but I do it anyway. It's her eyes. I was right. Derrick shared her eyes.

"Johanna, your brother was one of the strongest people I've ever known."

Her eyes widen in surprise. But what I said was true. Derrick held out for a long time. He was number six to go. And the last I saw of him? He still wasn't completely gone. The spark hadn't died out yet. I wonder if they've completely hollowed him out now.

It's morbid I know. But his sister is just in front of me. Her cold, dark eyes seem to have gained an understanding to them. They melt and the barest trace of tears appear.

"He was a Scholar?"

"He kept up with school until just before my summons. He told me he was going to drop out just before I came here."

I know instinctively that she gets my code. She nods.

It must be painful to realise that a member of your family is alive, but you'll never get them back.

* * *

_It's my last session before my meeting with the President. It's different this time, they brought me to the Capitol Hospital._

_This time they tried to make me forget what happened in the School, make me more receptive to the idea of joining Coriolanus Snow. I let them think they succeeded. They didn't. Apparently my acting is getting better._

_But I'm not to be released yet. The hijacking sessions have made me lose a lot of weight. I've lost a lot of my strength and muscle mass._

_I'm sitting with my head in my hands when I hear them. Cinna's acting as my unofficial guardian, and although I'm not going to see him till we reach the Remake centre later, hearing his voice comforts me._

_"You can't do any alterations on him!"_

_"Well, he could use…"_

_"No."_

_"But…"_

_"No. you're Doctors, do your job and get him better, no plastic surgery to give the impression of health is needed."_

_"But…"_

_"I'm his stylist. You can't make my job more difficult."_

_"But…"_

_"Don't you have anything that would help him? Without the need for surgery?"_

_"Well there is the…"_

_The conversation trails off as Cinna and the random Doctor move away from my hospital room. An hour later another doctor walks into my room trolleying a cart before him and he's muttering under his breath._

_Things like "pushy stylist", "reserved for Victors" and "surgery is a better option, it is short term compared to this" escape his mouth. I don't realise that he's prepped several new needles and taken out several vials of something._

_General anaesthetic is suddenly given to me, and I get knocked out._

_When I wake, I don't feel any different, apart from the fact that I feel like they've given me several of those strengthening injections they'd usually give me at the end of the sessions._

_My prep-team bustle in and tut over my appearance and the pock marks on my arms. I hear them mention something about another full body buff with extra attention to the arms before I pass out again._

* * *

We talk for a bit and then Haymitch mentions needing to go to the toilets but that he has forgotten where they are.

My mind snaps back into the game and I volunteer to go with him.

When we reach the toilet I spin the taps.

"So this is where you ended up. I didn't know if you'd turn out to be another Throthon Farren. Or any other 'dropped out' Scholar."

"No, they got me worse."

And then I spill out everything – again. Including my desperation surrounding the girl I love. The Girl on Fire. I seem to be doing that a lot lately, but it's all I can think of that will win me allies here. Specifically in the Mentors.

Haymitch gets an approving look in his eye.

"I knew she was a fighter, but she was pretty much tight lipped about any abilities she had. Hopefully she's following my advice right now and playing her cards close to her chest."

He look thoughtful for a second, focusing on another bit of my story.

"You know Mellark, Finnick's right. You're more like a Victor than you realise. Especially now. But if you're on the same page with me about the girl. Then we'll do all we can to send her home."

My name's Peeta Mellark. I'm sixteen years old and heading to the Apprentice Legislation course in the fall. I'm utterly confused by both Finnick and Haymitch. But I've just made something important happen. I'm going to help Haymitch bring the Girl on Fire home.

And I'm heading back to the event with that in mind.

I'll need more allies.


End file.
